The Woman and the Doctor
by Sgt Shoultz
Summary: When Watson met Sherlock, it was...unfeasible with an impossible woman. Nevertheless, there is something compelling about this woman. Is love or admiration of what she does with her life? Follows Sherlock season one and two. Fem!JW/fem!SH with possible genderswaps for other characters and possible romance between fem!JW/fem!SH. Rating may change later on for mature themes.


The Woman

**A.N: **I changed some things around for Jane Watson and Sherlock. I chose to stick with Sherlock's original name b/c it sounds more natural and better than Shirley. So yea...R&R, haven't got that much around here.

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"Watson, we need some firing suppression on that ridge!"

Watson held her rifle, popped in and out of cover firing in bursts and remembered to take cover each time so her sister wouldn't worry about Watson being sent home in a body bag. Each of the soldiers was yelling and screaming; explosions everywhere created dust screens made the enemy harder to kill. Every soldier was moving about, trying to get away from the explosions, trying to get a better view of the enemy, all with dodging bullets that whizzed past everyone prayed the man in the sky for protecting them. Well, that didn't help at all…

_Another sleepless night…_

It was around six o'clock in the morning. Jane groaned and covered her face with her hand. She breathed deeply, in and out multiple times. It was a way to start in the morning, plus the brain needs oxygen from a troubling dream and the sudden awakening—and it's becoming a bit of a routine. Almost. Becoming bored rather quickly, she did not want to stare at the ceiling and look at the window periodically until the full morning comes up; Watson lifted herself from bed and went to the bathroom. She checked her image on the mirror. There were lines forming under her eyes from continuing fatigue. Her dark brown shoulder-length hair had hair popping out in all sorts of places, like weeds on a grass. No matter, she can comb it down…if she can find one. _Damn it._ She turned on the faucet sink. Damn water was freezing cold and it would take a while for the hot water to be rendered useful. _Damn it all. _

Watson did a quick clean up of herself and dressed up in a plain white blouse with the edges tucked in her worn light-blue jeans and a leather jacket that one of her friends gave her as a good-bye present before Watson went out to deployment. To top it all off, she wore her red canvas, and last but not least, her "lovely" cane. Watson went out of her flat for a stroll in the park nearby. Unfortunately, the cane made her look like an old woman, or at least feel like one. She missed not having a cane. Running and jogging is what she missed. Although she may not like it, the cane does have its purpose and certain advantages.

Watson felt the early, numb-freezing air. She would've preferred the hot, humid weather of Afghanistan over this damnation of what you call a morning 'breeze', then again the afternoon weather in London is not so bad compared to said country. _Whatever._ She minded her business, walking aimlessly like a chicken without a head and when it came to rest, she sat on a nearby bench. She took a breather and looked up to the sky, the sun shining its bright and beautiful glory to the world below. _I wish I was a cloud._

…

_"Who would want me as a flat-mate?" Mike laughed at Watson's supposed joke. She looked at him confusingly. "What?" She didn't know she was funny, or what she said was even funny. _

_ "You're the second person who said that to me today."_

_ "Well, who was the first?"_

…

"Iraq or Afghanistan?"

"What?" Watson looked at the woman bewildered. She looked about the same height as Watson, long curvy hair that went down above the shoulders that looked like it had been lightly greased as it shone brightly that could reflect the light and blind anyone who was unfortunate enough to look, coupled with those piercing blue eyes that could kill a man a mile away. Watson looked at the woman in front of her; the black formal jacket and dark violet dress shirt with slacks and black mid-high boots brought out her image like a model on a runway, and the first impression of that mezzo-soprano voice was lovely. Just who is she?

"Which one is it: Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan. How'd di—"

"Ah, Molly!" Watson looked at the woman and saw her being handed a cup of coffee from this Molly, then heard about the lipstick being gone. She didn't care. Lipsticks are too much of a fuss.

"What do you think of the violin?" The woman returned to her computer with her coffee still in her hand. She took a sip, albeit with a slight wince of distaste from the coffee. "Too black," she complained.

"Sorry," Watson said confusingly.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking, though I could talk for hours without end. Will that bother you?" The woman turned to look at Watson.

"No fuss," Watson replied. "I knew someone who played the violin but it was way back. If you must know, I also listen to classical. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering. Even flat-mates have to know the worst of each other." The woman gave a smirk.

"Wait, you knew about us being flat-mates?"

"No, but I suggested it. It's hard to find a fate-mate when it comes to me in particular." The woman got her dark Belstaff coat and the navy blue scarf that covered her neck looked fancy enough that Watson could barely afford. She looked lovely. "Of course, with Mike meeting a friend during lunch who is back from military service in Afghanistan, it wasn't that too difficult."

"H-how did you know about Afghanistan?" _This is getting weird._

"I've found a place in central London that we both can able to afford. Tomorrow evening, seven o'clock. Sorry, I gotta go," the woman quickly explained and walked to the door, completely ignoring Watson's question.

"Is that it," Watson said with annoyance and turned to the woman at the door.

"Is that 'what'," the woman backed away from the door and turned to face Watson.

"We've just met and you want us to go look at a flat? We don't know a thing about each other. I have no idea where we are going, I don't even know your name, and how the hell did you know about Afghanistan?"

There was a short pause.

"I know you're an army doctor and you've injured in Afghanistan. I know you have a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you wouldn't approve him, likely because he's an alcoholic or more likely that he walked out on his wife, and I know that your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic, possibly resulting from PTSD. It's enough to be going home with, don't you think?" The woman turned to the door, leaving the stunned Watson in awe.

She opened the door, and with one last saying she says, "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." With a wink and a "tsk tsk" at Watson, she left.

…

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What do you think? Again, I chose to stick with Sherlock's name and I won't change that anytime soon (it seems fitting with her character) plus I kinda change their fashion image a bit but not too much as I want to stay with their original look. Anyways, thanks for reading and review, and let me know if there's any errors in grammar, sentence structure, etc.


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